东风破

the colors, the smoke, the sound.

the smell of gunpowder, charred paper and wonderful cookies baking in the coal fired brick oven. the shouts of joy and sounds of laughter. how we ran around you both, chasing each other. how you would give us another ang bao knowing well we hid the one you gave us and said we have not got one yet. how gung gung would catch crickets and put them into matchboxes for us to play with. how por por would quietly sneak us white rabbit candies when our parents were not looking. how you would take us out to the pond and give us a stick with a string tied to it so we could pretend to fish along with you. the sounds of cicadas and flashes of lightning bugs in the woods as we took a slow trek home. the white cloud-like mosquito net hanging from the ceiling above us and we lay next to you both, giggling. the slow lazy rotating fan, clattering gently, rhythmically. how we would fall asleep as you played the er hu and she sang to us…

would you hold my small hand again? and help me light that sparkler?

i miss you gung gung… por por… gung hei fatt choy…

谁在用琵琶弹奏, 一曲东风破, 岁月再墙上剥落, 看见小时候, 犹记得那年我们都还很年幼, 而如今琴声幽幽, 我的等候你没听过…

-周杰倫: 东风破-

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